Quotes About Mystery

The mystery of life is not salved by success, which is an end in itself, but in failure, in perpetual struggle, in becoming.

Poetry resists academic pretension, just as the mystery of religious faith evaporates on contact with dogma.

Only then did he understand that he really wanted to know nothing about El Ga'a beyond the fact that it was isolated and unfrequented, that it was precisely those things he had been trying to ascertain about it.

Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle

Are you ready to bring back a weapon from another world?

Monsters were one thing. She was used to monsters, she could deal with monsters. A noise in the darkness, with nothing attached to it, was another.

DI Cartwright: The cat is booby trapped? DI Quill: Welcome to my world.

Riddler: You want to tell me who you killed and why? Catwoman: We didn't kill anyone Poisson Ivy: Well, not yesterday

End? You don't mean like, dead end?

By calling something a secret, we state our right not to reveal, to maintain privacy.

Why not scientific humanism? "It's not good enough." Why isn't it? "This life is too much trouble, far too strange, to arrive at the end of it and have to answer, 'Scientific humanism.' That won't do. A poor show. Life is a mystery, love is a delight. Therefore I take it as axiomatic that one should settle for nothing less than the infinite mystery and the infinite delight, i.e., God. In fact I demand it. I refuse to settle for anything less.

No one has ever been able to discover how they make this subtle sound, and what is more, no one ever will. It is a secret that has endured from the very beginning of the time of cats and will never be revealed.

And when the sun sets...then the night magic spreads out above your head; worlds and universes a-borning and a-dying—stars and planets and galaxies. And the bigger the telescope they can make, and the farther into the beyond they are able to penetrate, the greater grows the mystery.

Why Brownlee left, and where he went, Is a mystery even now. For if a man should have been content It was him; two acres of barley, One of potatoes, four bullocks, A milker, a slated farmhouse. He was last seen going out to plough On a March morning, bright and early. By noon Brownlee was famous; They had found all abandoned, with The last rig unbroken, his pair of black Horses, like man and wife, Shifting their weight from foot to Foot, and gazing into the future.

Flower in the Crannied Wall Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower—but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.

In the long term everyone traffics in foregone conclusions, and in the short term they just get drunk. This is the way it has always been. Some half-assed ambiguity masquerading as mystery is all anybody's really looking for.

If there are things you don't know, you call the gap in your knowledge a mystery and fill it in with a wholly emotional answer.

I wanted something altogether wilder, the clumsier romance of strangeness.

I want to know the age. The sex. Most of all, the fingerprints. I'd like to identify who it is. After he had agreed, and I had left the office, walking to calm myself, I thought: And who am I? Please tell me who I am and what I'm doing.

Only two bodies were found and identified; the rest vanished, "and they are crying out for justice.

book of Revelation

Lom mister,' he said, and winked at me. 'It's the CIA, isn't it? You're an agent, you tell people you're a journalist because that's good cover ...

covert rituals.

Disappeared. Obviously killed. International experts came and unearthed most of the story.